When I come home for the summer from college, I often run to my sisters. I catch them up on all my recent endeavors, new crushes, and the occasional drama. The summer days go by like this and before I know it, it is time for me to hop on a plane back to school to Santa Barbara.
I grab my backpack and get out of the car. I stand on the curb and look at my parents, who both decided to drive me to the airport to send me back to school.
"Fuck," I say to myself. I did it again. I came home for the summer and I was never actually home. It feels like freshman year all over again, when my entire family helped me move into my dorm and when it was time to say goodbye, it was awkward and sad. You would think those two emotions do not coalesce, but they do. Especially in the moment because you realize you are giving your loved ones their last hug for a while, until you get to come home for the holidays.
Here I am again. A flood of regret washes over me as a I replay the summer in my head and imagine days during which I did spend a lot of time with my parents.
Fast forward to the present moment, I came to the conclusion I do not want to have such regret when I go back to school. So, I decided to spend an entire day with my parents and our quality time taught me a lot.
We sit at a table on the far right of my parents' favorite brewery. The space is big and its tall ceilings are decorated with bikes -- memorabilia of Sacramento. Music is playing, the bartenders chug beers in between rushes during which they return to the hustle to take orders.
I see why my parents like this brewery. It is big enough to sit and people watch and small enough to have intimate conversations without having to scream over the Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting through the speakers.
My father, who has been in the United States twenty-one years, still feels out of place when he cannot speak proper English. Although we do not talk about it, I have spent enough times with him in social settings that I know when he gets uncomfortable or tense in moments when he has to interact in English.
Even at my sister's wedding he got antsy, while giving his speech at the reception. My entire family stood with him to support him because we all understand how hard it is to get out of your comfort zone. It is even harder to do when you do not know how to articulate yourself clearly, especially if you need to do so in a second language you are not fluent in.
Bike Dog, which is a family (and dog) friendly brewery, has a relaxed feel to it. The wait staff is not pretentious and will not judge you if you do not know the difference between a hazy IPA or a classic West Coast IPA.
An environment can truly make it or break it for a foreigner. When you go to a new place, like a new cafe or restaurant, you want to feel at ease. While squinting at the menus plastered on the wall, you want to take your time picking something out and not feel the pressure of being a newbie, who does not automatically know what they want.
Although the environment at Bike Dog is calm, I look at the way in which my dad's eyes frantically roam the menu. I know him too well. He feels like he is taking too much time to decide what he wants to order. Because he does not speak or even read in English well, it takes him longer to choose something. I want to tell him, "Papa, ni toropiz. Vibirai chto hochesh." ("Dad, don't rush. Choose whatever you'd like.")
We are in the land of the free after all.
We sit with our beers and sip in silence. I observe how comfortable my parents are with one another.
My vision clouds and I don't know if the beer's hops are hitting me, or if tears are. I forget my parents are getting older. They did so much for my family. In their early forties, they took a risk and left the life they had in Russia to come to the US.
It sometimes frustrates me that my dad is bothered by being unable to speak English, or comprehend Sacramento jargon. Yet, I get it. Right now, everyone has left my parents' nest. It is just them and they make the most of it. My mom busies herself with the garden, my dad works at the same place since he immigrated, and they occasionally go out together.
There is nobody at the house again to help out with miscellaneous tasks, like fishing through important mail or calling AT&T when the Internet is down.
I raise my beer and give a toast. "Thank you for spending the day with me. I had so much fun, especially coming to Bike Dog for the first time. This is how summer should be. Always." We clink our pints and continue to enjoy the night.
I am so happy I spent the entire summer day with my parents. I know I will not feel any sense of regret when I go back to school, since I devoted an entire day to my parents and I still have a week and a half left to have more days like this.
I look at my parents and smile. I silently promise myself I will call them more often, hug and kiss them more often, and most importantly, spend more time with them when I am home.
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